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Htcfctson, Ikansas 



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CONTENTS 













CONTENTS. 

FESTAL SONGS. 

To My Father in Christ, Dedicatory 1 

The Bells of Atchison . 5 

Seed Time and Harvest 10 

Harvest Wreath .• 13 

Boniface Wimmer, O. S. B 14 

How Like the Mighty Oak 15 

The White Shepherd 17 

A Mother's Heart 18 

Welcome 20 

Song of Welcome 21 

At Rest 24 

Thy Shepherd Comes 25 

The Dove and the Oak 27 

St. Maurus 29 

St. Placidus 30 

The Cemetery : 31 

To-Morrow 33 

A Valliant Knight 34 

The Theban Knight 37 

An Editorial Stub 38 

Await The Morrow 39 

In Time and Tune 40 

Kansas 41 



PAGE 



CONTENTS 



ACulledRose 44 

A Wondrous Song 45 

A Brother 's Prayer 47 

Rough Sailing 48 

Write Music 49 

Caedmon 50 

The Giddy World 51 

Dreaming of Home 52 

Friends That Are Gone 53 

Song of the Steam Vent 54 

The Pony Post 55 

Sweet Song 57 

The Blessed Goal 59 

A Joy Wave 61 

The Mind v 62 

Songs Immortal 64 

Where Is Happiness 65 

To AYouth 67 

A Neglected Tome 68 

To Youth 69 

An Absent Friend 71 

Mistrustlt 72 

A Ray of Sunshine 73 

THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS. 

New Year's Musings 77 

What'sInAName 79 

The GuidingStar '. 81 

Simeon 81 



PAGE - VI 



CONTENTS 



Lent 84 

A March Verse 85 

March 87 

AnApology 87 

AttheDawn ._. 89 

Longing for Day 90 

Victory of Life 92 

Alleluja 93 

May 93 

Sweet May 95 

The Heart That Never Fails 96 

A June Song 98 

A Rosebud 99 

Looking Ahead 100 

Looking Back 101 

Vain Joys and True 102 

Dreaming 104 

Faded Faces 105 

Old Vacation 106 

APrecious Stream 107 

The Queen's Day 108 

Retreat 110 

ATrue Friend Ill 

October 112 

Autumn Roses 113 

Love's Bouquet 114 

RoseEternal 115 

Children of Night 116 

To Winter 117 



PAGE - VII 



CONTENTS 



Land of Night 118 

Hail Winter 119 

Bona Crux 120 

St. Cecilia 121 

AChristmas Carol 122 

Christmas Carol 124 

Christmas Wish 125 



^n& 



PAGE - - - - - - - VIII 



DEDICATORY 



TO MY FATHER IN CHRIST. 

— f— 

'{\ o him who gently took my youthful hand, 
While yet in desert waste I wandered lone, 
Led me to pasture, rich with verdure grown, 

Where life in all its beauty could expand, 

Where springs Pierean water the thirsting land; — 
Pointed the way of peace, to earth unknown, 
Where the untrammeled heart, in sweetest tone, 

Pours out the songs that angels understand; — 

To him who patient watched my wanderings, 
Was father kind, when I was faithless son: 

To him, that son his heart's first harvestings 
Now consecrates. And may his lips anon 

Bless both the singer and his humble songs, 

Himself find bliss among the angel throngs. 



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AGE - ONE 



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festal Songs 



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FESTAL 



SONGS 




e Bells 
of Htcbison 



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♦ijJiNG out, glad Bells, and let your music roll 
"* In waves of melody o'er hill and dale; 
This day hath joy beyond the heart's control 
Ye best can tell. Upon each passing gale 
Send out, in brazen notes, the gladsome tale. 
Wag your great tongues in unrestrained glee, 
Till heaven take up the song of jubilee. 

There was a day when ye were hushed and still, 
When yet these spreading plains were virgin soil, 
And native discord echoed from hill to hill. 
Nor had fair Industry set hand to toil. 
The child of nature, searching for bloody spoil, 
Roamed the wide prairie without check or stay, 
Nor dreamed the wonders of another day. 



PAGE 



FIVE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



Dreamed not his dreams were fading fast away; 
The chill dark night, that hung upon his land, 
Would soon give place unto the gladsome day 
Of fairer hopes he did not understand. 
His implements of war dropped from his hand, 
And, with his face turned to the eastern skies, 
He blessed the light, that blessed his wondering eyes. 

Strike up the anthem jubilant and grand, 
Ring out your gladdest notes, ring loud and long; 
Ye are the spokesmen of this blessed land. 
The hills and dales will echo back your song; 
Ay, and the hearts of this rejoicing throng 
Will beat in time and tune with your glad lay, 
And sing the glories of this festive day. 

Today's the harvesting of labors past: — 
E'en though the planting was 'mid anxious fear, 
And trembling hands the seed did doubtful cast, 
Lest dreaded drouth his fairest hopes should sere; 
Yet in his heart there soon was goodly cheer, 
To see the seedling start, wax full and fair. — 
Sweeter the reaper's song for the planter's care. 



PAGE 



S I X 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



And Ye, great bells, have joined his every lay: 
Wept in his sorrow, shouted in his glee; 
You've summoned him to toil before the day, 
Cheered all his labors with sweet melody, 
Sung him to sleep with gentle lullaby.— 
And all the land hath loved the wondrous notes 
That rang so clear from out your brazen throats. 

Nor have ye ever sung discordant note; 

Love, joy, and peace have been your cherished themes. 

E'en when the icy hand a heart hath smote, 

A ray of hope still through your sorrow gleams 

That all the bitterness of death redeems. 

For every various mood the seasons bring, 

Ye ne'er have failed the fitting song to sing. 

And now, when loyal hearts are gathered round, 

E'en at the bidding of your joyous lay, 

From out your noisy throats there seems to sound 

The gentle echoes of a distant day, 

When, through the stillness that oppressive lay 

Upon this land, your song of hope and love 

First jubilant rang out these hills above. 



PAGE - - - - - - SEVEN 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



'T was a lone voice, but sweet as of a friend : — 
E'en as the first smiles of the waking day 
Are fairer than the glories that descend 
From highest heaven, so that clangor gay- 
Was kin unto the wondrous angel lay 
That swelled o'er Juda's hills, when heaven's peace 
Came down to earth and brought the world's release. 

And now, great Ben, with thy companions three, 

Upon the walls hast taken up thy stand. 

Thy voice is jubilant, for in jubilee 

Thy coming was. And o'er the quiet land 

The swelling chorus of thy faithful band 

Sends far the message of thy bounteous Lord, 

With loving call, to share His festive board. 

And unto many a weary, fainting heart 

Thy hopeful song has been a soothing balm; 

Unto the sorrowing, thy wondrous art 

Hath brought the blessings of celestial calm, 

Spreading an ointment on the burning qualm. 

The sluggard, that would sleep his life away, 

Thy thundering voice hath driven to the fray. 













PAGE 


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E I G H 


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ESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



To-day ye sing another jubilee, 

When to the laborings of fifty years 

The heavens have given rare fecundity; 

And the glad heart, forgetting former tears, 

Answers your song with loud exultant cheers. 

Now doth the citadel stand well secure; 

And may it many a cycle yet endure! 

Ring on, glad bells, and sound from hill to hill, 
Bearing the word of hope to far and near. — 
Ah! woe betide the land where ye are still, 
And eager ears shall list in vain to hear! 
Oh, never may that sunless day appear! 
For discord then shall rage these hills along, 
To drown the echoes of your eternal song. 

Nay! Ring forever, till the day is done, 
Till all the land shall answer to your call; 
Ring out our victory, when the race is run. 
Ring on, until the stars from heaven fall, 
And trembling earth, the final terrors pall. — 
Ay, may your voices mingle with the blast 
Of Gabriel's trumpet call, when time is past. 



AGE - - NINE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONG 



SEED TIME AND HARVEST. 

— 4 — 

Euntes ibant et flebant, mittentes semina sua, 

venientes autem venient cum exultatione, portantes 

manipulos suos. (Ps. 125) 

When the honest swain stands on the plain, 

At Spring's first wakening, 
There's a cloud of doubt hangs his heart about: 
Will his labors sore bring him goodly store 

Of grain at the harvesting? 

Not from weary toil does his hand recoil, 

Though his heart be full of care; 
As he labors on from the day's first dawn, 
He sings as he goes, and forgets his woes, 
And whispers a silent prayer. 

Then there's joy in his heart, when the seedlings 
start 

From their bed in the parent ground; 
And his eye twinkles bright with calm delight, 
As he marks how they grow, tho' never so slow; 

And the green spreads all around. 



PAGE - - - - - - - TE 



STAL SONGS 



Yet he still has a care, lest his hopes so fair 
Should be blighted ere they bloom; 

For a chilling breath would be certain death; 

Or a sering South, or a parching drouth 
Would bring him direst doom. 

But he works and prays ; all his care he lays 

With his Master in the skies; 
For he knows that His love watches e'er from 

above, 
So whate'er betide, he will firm abide 

In the trust his heart supplies. 

Now his joy new burns and his hope returns, 

As the fragrant breath of May 
Sends a whispered strain o'er the silvery grain 
That seems to sing of the harvesting, 

And rest of the after day. 

When sun and rain make his field of grain 

One waving golden sea, 
Then his heart beats high, for the gathering is nigh, 
And a meet reward from his gracious Lord 

Will all his labors fee. 



AGE - ELEVEN 



FESTAL - - - - - SONG 



And the gathering day, with its rollicking lay, 

Came at last to the faithful swain; 
And the gracious Lord spoke approving word: 
"Thou hast valiant done, like a dutiful son; 
Thou shalt have increased domain." 

And his fields have grown, not in breadth alone; 

There's a blessing upon the land. 
And his granaries large, with their precious charge, 
Are abundant store for his Master's poor; 

And he deals with a generous hand. 

May his life be long, full of cheerful song, 

May his fields abundant bear; 
And when day is done, and the race is run, 
May he find sweet rest amid heaven's blest, 

And bliss unmeasured share. 




PAGE - - - - - - TWELVl 



FESTAL - - - - . SONGS 



HARVEST WREATH. 

— * — 

Dear Father, for thy festal day 
A garland we have twined 

Of roses, lilies, tulips gay, 
The fairest we could find. 

Oh, may its fragrance fill the air, 

Be wafted to the sky, 
E'en as the perfume of sweet prayer 

Our hearts have sent on high. 

With harvest wreath we deck thy brow, 

After thy years of toil. 
Ah! may the seeds thou gatherest now 

Find fairer, richer soil. 

Yes, may'st thou have, ere life's decline, 

A golden gathering; 
And may the fairest fruits be thine 

At heaven 'r harvesting. 



PA GE THIRTEEN 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



BONIFACE WIMMER, O. S. B. 

— ♦ — 

By patient toil thy noble work was done. 

And now thou sleepest 'neath the spreading tree 
Thy own hand nursed to rare fecundity. 

What, though the planting was in fear begun, 

So that the harvest was a happy one! 

And whilst thou restest, from thy labors free, 
The spirit of thy simple sanctity 

Still lives among thine own, to lead them on. 

The plantling, thou hast reared with gentle hand, 
Hath mighty grown and spread its branches wide; 

Yields goodly fruit unto the hungering land, 

And shelters the weary hearts, that would abide 

In sweet seclusion. Ah! may we anon, 

Thy children, share the glory thou hast won! 







PAGE FOURTEEN 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



HOW LIKE THE MIGHTY OAK! 



Behold yon mighty oak, of giant form, 
That rears his head unto the heavens high, 
Braving the furies of the mountain storm, 
With calm defiance; or with gentle sigh 
Listing the tales of zephyrs passing by. 
How like the great -grandsire of the wold 
He standeth there, as with delighted eye 
He doth his children circled round behold, 
And loving would them all with outstretched arms 
enfold. 

Deep-rooted there upon the mountain side 
He stands, a witness of the centuries past; 
Upon his rugged" form, Time's flowing tide 
Hath left a writing that shall ever last. 
Yet stands he firm, though many a furious blast 
Hath wrought upon him with a ruffian hand. 
But deeper roots into the earth he cast, 
And his great arms but wider did expand, 
As from impending ill he'd shelter all the land. 



PAGE - - - - - FIFTEEN 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



Empires have risen, vast and mighty grown; 
Tottered and fallen; — now they forgotten lie, 
Buried amid the wreckage Time hath sown. — $ 
Illustrious names, like meteors in the sky, 
Have blazed with glory, but to wane and die, 
Nor left a trace upon the firmament. . 
But forest king still stands. Dost wonder why? 
Not in the sands, but deep into the rent 
Of yonder mountain's side his sturdy roots are sent. 

Though rough of form and shorn of outward grace, 
Full many a loving service hath he wrought; 
Have pilgrims, plodding on with sluggish pace 
Erred from the path? Their eager eyes have caught 
That friendly form, and with new courage sought 
The straighter way. Ay, and the fevered brows, 
The aching, faltering limbs, with sinews taut, 
There all have rested . And the spreading boughs 
Sang softest lullabies, sweet slumbers to arouse. 

How like the mighty oak, but wondrous fair, 
Great Benedict, thy sainted form I see 
Upon the holy mount, in vesture rare, 
With heaven's changeless light encircling thee. 



PAGE - - - - - SIXTEEN 



ESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



The world's great teacher thou dost seem to be, 
Pointing the way that leads unto the height, 
Where fainting hearts may find security, — 
The City of God, where ravishing delight 
Doth all the ills of life unmeasuredly requite. 



THE WHITE SHEPHERD. 

Pastor of Christ's great flock of lambs and sheep, 
In meek humility so like thy Lord, 
Unlike earth's great ones, that would be adored. 
So eager all thy precious charge to keep, 
Precipice and chasm and the mountain steep, 
All hast thou dared, to seek thy erring ward. 
Prowling and preying wolves have furious roared, 
Athirst for blood; they found thee ne'er asleep. 
Deep in thy mighty bosom thou dost hold 
Each bleating lamb that needs thy nursing care. 
Couldst all the earth in thy great arms enfold 
In love's embrace, what dangers wouldst not dare! 
More than thy life, one master thought is there 
Urges thee on: All pains as naught to rate, 
So thou all things in Christ may renovate. 



AGE _,- - - SEVENTEEN 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



A MOTHER'S HEART. 

For the firs visit of Rt. Rev. Thomas Francis Lillis, D. D. 
+ 

Who can read a mother's heart, 
And tell of all that's there: 

The love it yearneth to impart, 
The tender, anxious care 

That there is pent; the cunning art 
It useth everywhere? 

It doteth at the cradle's side, 
Where sleeps the treasured son, 
While fancy builds a palace wide 

To welcome this dear one, — 
Its mother's joy, its mother's pride, 

Like whom the world hath none. 

And when the child buds into youth, 

Still hovers mother near, 
An angel guardian, forsooth, 

To whisper words of cheer, 
Its pains to still with gentle ruth 

And dry the starting tear 



PAGE - - - - - EIGHTEEN 



? E S T A L - - - - - SONGS 



But how she dreads the parting day, 

When to life's battle-field 
Her darling boy is called away, 

For God his sword to wield! 
But still her heart is with him aye, 

Her prayer, his surest shield. 

Oh, how her heart hangs on each word 
That tells of her valiant son: — 

With sorest grief that heart is stirred, 
If ill the tidings run; 

But swelleth with a joy unheard, 
If they tell of glory won. 

But who can say what noble pride 
Wells up in mother's breast, 

When he returneth to her side 
With glory-crowned crest, 

A prince among his people tried, 
Whom every lip hath blessed? 

The tears of sweet beatitude 
Now steal her cheeks adown: 

Her highest hopes have come to good; 
The son's well-earned renown 

Is all the bliss her heart hath wooed, — 
His glory is her crown. 



AGE NINETEEN 



FESTAL - - - - - SONG 



WELCOME. 

To the late Bishop Fink after his illness. 



Hark! there is music in the evening air: 
The sweet-souled viol, and the mellow flute, 
The silvery trumpet with its stirring blare, 
And all the shades of sound that substitute 
The soul's deep feelings that must else be mute, — 
These speak a language tongue hath never found. 
But say, what is the meaning of their glad salute? 
Ah! there's a heart within each pulsing sound, 
And all in chorus make their welcome song resound: 

"Hail Father, High Priest, Pastor of our souls! 
We greet thy coming with a gladsome song. 
And as our minds sweet harmony controls, 
Our hearts are borne upon its waves along 
To bid thee happy welcome. Lo! the throng 
That calls thee Father. They're thy joy, thy crown. 
Look now upon their love, not on their wrong; 
Yea, in thy love let our offences drown, 
And lift thy hand to call a benediction down!" 



PAGE - - - - - - TWENT 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



SONG OF WELCOME. 

On the visit of Abbot Krug of Montecassino. 



To-day a song of gladsome joy 
Wells up within our breast, 

For, from the East, a noble prince 
Hath come unto the West. 

From sunny Italy he comes 

To greet Columbia fair, 
His parent land; and friendly hearts 

Bid welcome everywhere. 

And to Columbia's garden-spot, 

To Kansas, did he come, 
And met a Kansas welcome, 

As warm as a welcome home. 

Ah, how in reverent awe they stand, 
With open doors and hearts; 

They bend the knee, and bow the head 
To hide the tear that starts. 



PAGE - - - - TWENTY-ONE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



For he is as a Father come, 

With messages from home; 
He brings a sweet remembrance 

From our great ancestor's tomb. 

A Father, ay, he is indeed, 

Our hearts are close allied; 
For where he dwells, our Father dwelt, — 

St. Benedict, — and died; 

And there his holy body lies 

At rest within the tomb, 
Awaiting, with his Sister blest, 

The final calling home. 

Then well that we should sing thy praise, 

And tell thy virtues all; 
And count thy coming as a day 

Of solemn festival. 

But let the veil of sadness hang 

Upon the parting day; 
Ah, our hearts and prayers will go 

With thee upon the way. 



PAGE - - - - TWENTY-TWO 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



May he, whose place thou holdest here, 
Bless all thy works and thee; 

And may thy final sentence run: 
" Vere bona fecisti!" 

And when thou standest at the tomb 

Of our Father blest, 
Oh! tell him of his children here, 

In the far distant West. 

Tell him that our hearts are true, 

We love his Holy Rule. 
Then beg a blessing from his hand 

Upon our humble school. 

And, Father, as our hearts are bound 

On earth by ties of love, 
May thus they be eternally 

In the blessed realms above. 



PAGE - - - TWENTY-THREE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



AT REST. 

— ♦ — 

AT last, great Leo, thou hast found thy rest, 
And all the orphaned world weeps at thy bier, 
For thou wert Father, Teacher, Guide and Seer; 

Thy voice went out to North, South, Bast, and West 

To counsel peace, to plead the poor oppressed. 
Both king and peasant held thy counsels dear; 
The wise ones wondering did thy words revere, 

And peoples all bowed low at thy behest. 

O Prince of Peace, thy great life's work is done! 

The flag of universal peace unfurled 
Thou leav'st our heritage; and thou hast won 

The fond remembrance of a grateful world. 
Now from thy prison thou hast found release, 
To taste the joy of God's eternal peace. 



<¥ 



PAGE - - - - TWENTY-FOUR 



ESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



THY SHEPHERD COMES. 

On the election of Rt. Rev. J. P. Cunningham, D. D. 

♦ 

How graze the flock in peaceful quiet on, 
When leads the shepherd's guiding voice the way 
To smiling pastures, rich with verdure grown, 
Where they may feed secure to parting day. 
The master's watchful eye holds harm at bay; 
Their wanderings, his warning voice recalls, 
His only presence doth all fear allay. 
And how like sweetest strains the accent falls 
Of his assuring voice, when danger dark appalls. 

As doth the sturdy oak, in stately form, 
Stand firm to breast the furies of the blast, 
And spreads his mighty arms to stay the storm, 
And shield the weaker growths, that else were cast 
Ruthless to earth: So stands the shepherd fast, 
Facing the foe and ready for the fray, 
To bravely do or die, ere e'en the last 
Of his beloved flock should heedless stray 
And to the hungry foe, alack, fall helpless prey. 



AGE - - - - TWENTY-FIVE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONG 



And how, — when sleeps the shepherd, weary worn, 
Or, thoughtless of his charge, hath strayed afar, — 
How anxious fret the flock, thus left forlorn, 
Helpless as seaman when no friendly star 
Doth greet his eye, — adrift heartsick and sore: — 
How then each distant sound sends anxious thrill 
Through every trembling form, as though it bore 
Forebodings evil! — Dread thus reigns, until 
Again the master's voice assures them: Peace, be still. 

Then sing, Concordia! Thy Shepherd comes. 
No more thy flocks unherded now shall stray, 
E'er fearful of the foe that hungry roams, 
Seeking its prey; nor, wandering all the day 
Through desert fields, shorn of the fragrant hay, 
Shall go unwatered or unfed to hold. 
The master's hand will point thee safe the way, 
And lead thee where the fattest fields unfold, 
And bring thee home secure, when day's last knell is 
told. 



# 



PAGE - - - - TWENTY-SI^ 



ESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



THE DOVE AND THE OAK. 



Irfthe^sweet stillness of the plain 
Thy quiet nest was hidden, 

Where thou couldst sing thy dulcet strain 
Of all the world unchidden; 

And curious eye, in searching vain, 
Might gaze not unforbidden. 

There hast thou cooed thy simple lay, 
And heaven rejoiced to hear thee ; 

There did thy broodlings love to stay, 
Secure from perils near thee; 

For peace e'er shed its welcome ray 
Of gladsome light to cheer thee. 

But whither, from thy quiet nest, 

Each waking Spring has lured thee? 

Had not the love of peaceful rest 
To solitude inured thee? 

Or had a holier behest 

To higher bliss adjured thee? 



AGE - - - TWENTY-SEVEN 



FESTAL - - - - - SONG 



Ah, dearer than thy cloistered home 
One only spot thou knewest, — 

The great Oak in the forest's gloam, — 
And thitherward thou fie west, 

Where fairer smileth heaven's dome, 
And thine own voice rang truest. 

And song for sough thou didst repay. 

* How the low, sweet strain did cheer thee! 
And Oak was gladder for the day 

His wondering heart should hear thee; 
And ever did thy simple lay 

The more to him endear thee. 

And when, into the cloudless sky, 

He saw thee fair ascending, 
Until beyond the reach of eye 

Thy upward flight was wending, 
What wonder he should sere and die? 

For grief his heart was rending. 



PAGE - - - TWENTY-EIGH 



ESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



ST. MAURUS. 



With the fleet step of glad obedience 

Thou hast walked the rugged path that leads to rest : 
The Master's hands, thine own have eager pressed, 

There putting all thy simple confidence. 

Bach step thou mad'st to thy high eminence 
Was measured by his hand; ay, his behest 
Was light to thy eye and courage to thy breast; 

Thy strength in life, in death thy sure defence. 

O glorious way of peace and liberty, 

Whereon they walk secure that have undone 
The haughty rebel that would hold them slaves 
To selfish purposes! From self set free, 

They're masters of the world; the fight is won: 
They tread the billows as Maurus did the waves. 



# 



PAGE - - - - TWENTY-NINE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



ST. PLACIDUS. 



SwEET flower of innocence that grew so fair, 
In thy secluded mountain home, afar 
From the foul odors that the lowlands mar, 

And jarring sounds that mingle their echoes there. 

The wondrous brightness of thy vesture rare 
Beams out upon the night, that cannot bar 
The glad refulgence of so bright a star, 

Nor stay the fragrance of thy burning prayer. 



Thy beauty waned not with the passing time; 

Ay, grew more grateful to thy Master's heart. 
And thy transplanting to a stranger clime 

Did but a ruddier loveliness impart. 
Still doth thy memory sweet fragrance shed, 
Tho' long thy spirit from the earth has fled. 



PAGE - - - T - - THIRTY 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



THE CEMETERY. 



Sweet home of rest, 
Where sleep the ashes of the blessed dead, 
While birds and zephyrs mingle their songs o'erhead 
And lingering flowers their sweet odors spread! 

A gentle calm 
Rests on thy bosom, like a spreading shroud; — 
Here die the echoes of earth's surging crowd, 
The heart is still, the head in reverence bowed. 

For here I feel 
The awful presence of the Hand that holds 
The slender thread of life. And here unfolds 
The primal truth, that all creation molds: 

Not many years; 
For days may bear the fruit of centuries, 
And years be barren. Work alone will ease 
The rest that waits thee here, when heaven may 

please. 



PAGE - - - - THIRTY-ONE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



Nor the great deed; 
For here they lie that had but just begun; 
Their work, half-wrought, by other hands is done. — 
We reap in joy, where they in tears had sown. 

Nor might nor wealth; 
For earthly power reaches scarce the grave; 
And wealth 's a burden it were ill to save, 
If quiet rest in that long night dost crave. 

O blessed Dead! 
In none of these have ye put idle trust; 
Treasures ye have that neither moth nor rust 
Can harm, safe in the treasury of the just. 

Sons of the Blest, 
With cautious step, ye walked the narrow way; 
And now ye well may rest, until the day 
That shall your faithful labors all repay. 



tan 



PAGE - - - _ THIRTY-TWO 



STAL - - - - - SONGS 



TO-MORROW. 



To-morrow! Ah! the wrecks thy hand hath wrought, 
Thou pirate bold on Time's fast flowing sea! 
Who'll tell the names to ignominy brought, 
The fortunes ruined by thy robbery? 
Alas! thy siren song's sweet melody 
Doth so disarm the mind of nobler pride, 
That, careless of the end, it follows thee, 
Till, whirled within the eddy of the tide, 
It sinks to death and shame, there ever to abide. 

Thou whisperest softly: "Wait the coming day; 
Put toil aside and fold thy hands to rest." 
Alack! The poison of that soothing lay 
Finds welcome entrance to the thoughtless breast. 
And every irksome task, at thy behest, 
Is left to thy uncertain finishing. 
Too oft is disappointment thy bequest; 
Thy favors are forever tarrying. 
And thus our fondest hopes bear oft the sorest sting. 



AGE - - - THIRTY-THREE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONG 



"To-morrow," — oh, that fatal uttered word! — 
"To-morrow I will turn from sin away, 
And walk again the path from which I've erred. " 
Oh, mad resolve! Oh, ruinous delay! — 
"Fool, that thou art! They'll have thy soul to-day!" 
Thou waitest vainly for another dawn, 
Wasting thy life in idleness and play ! 
For thee, alas! the hour of grace is gone! 
The harvest day is spent ; eternal night is on ! 



A VALLIANT KNIGHT. 

Behold the valiant soldier tried, 
Who has bled in many wars; 

His noble deeds will long abide, 
They are written in his scars. 

They're written on the battle-fields, 
Where his valor won the day. 

O'er younger hearts their splendor wields 
An eager, urging sway. 



PAGE - - - - THIRTY-FOU 



STAL - - - - - SONGS 



His Master's livery hath he worn 
These five and twenty years, 

The brunt of battles hath he borne, 
And bravely still he bears. 

We've gathered round him here to-day, 

With him to celebrate, 
His primal entrance in the fray 

With ardor all elate; 

When first he donned the armor bright, 
Unsheathed the trusty steel, 

To champion the cause of right, 
Death to the foe to deal. 

His seniors that buckled the cuirass 
Now hail him: "True and brave!" 

The hand that knighted him, alas, 
Rests in the silent grave. 

But he, that o'er the valiant host, 
Now holdeth high command, 

('Tis glory true, not vaunting boast,) 
Was reared by his own hand; 



GE - - - - THIRTY-FIVE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONG 



Was schooled in all the arts of war, 
Was trained to battle well. — 

In this alone is glory more 
Than words can ever tell. 

Of other sturdy hearts a host, 

He trained in valor's laws, 
Now claim it as their proudest boast 
That he their master was. 

Then hail! brave soldier of the cross, 

Fair honors hast thou won; 
Far brighter than thy armor's gloss 

Are the deeds thy hands have done. 

With garland wreath we deck thee now; 

But in the sunset's glow, 
A fairer one awaits thy brow, 

That heaven will bestow. 



%3« 

Q 



PAGE - - - - THIRTY-SIX 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



THE THEBAN KNIGHT. 

— ♦ — 

The Christian knight, brave soldier of the cross, 
What is the glory that he prizes dear? 
Is it high titles, or the gilded gloss 
Of a proud name that foes with trembling hear? 
Tho' bravest rivals yielded to his spear, 
And hosts before him fled in wild retreat, 
Ay, all the world sent up a lusty cheer 
His valiant deeds and victories to greet, — 
If self he conquered not, he recked it foul defeat. 

Such Maurice was, the valiant Theban Knight: — 

His shield, that could the fiercest blows defy, 

Was faith; strong love, his sword, unsheathed for 

right; 
The cross, his banner; " God, " his battle cry. 
With these he dauntless went to do and die, 
Braving the wrath of Ceasar's hosts and Hell, 
Hoping for victory's crown beyond the sky. 
Behold thy pattern: see, thou copy well! 
Put on his arms and fight, e'en as he fought and fell. 



PAGE - - - THIRTY-SEVEN 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 

AN EDITORIAL STUB. 

— ♦ — 

My course is run, my life's work now is done; 
Hard rubs have worn my usefulness away. 
Old age hath shrunk my form, my strength is gone; 
I'm cast aside, unequal to the fray. 
But ah, fond memories ! — There was a day, 
'Twas in the bloom and buoyancy of youth, 
When not the greatest dared my power to stay, 
Nor king nor plebs, layman nor" clerk forsooth; 
I wielded sway supreme, my cause the very truth. 

Oft have I rested on the editor's ear, 
And marked the pulsings in his heated brain; 
Or heard the storm of wrath wild raging there, 
As though 't would burst his temples quite in twain. 
Then trembling I traced, upon papyrean plain, — 
As wildly as e'er Kansas cyclone sped — 
The hurricane of thought and wrathful rain, 
That poured in fury from his reeling head, 
To crush the living foe, or curse the vanquished dead. 

But now my course is run; — alack! I'm cast away. 
To younger hands I yield reluctantly the fray. 

PAGE - - - THIRTY-EIGHT 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



AWAIT THE MORROW. 



"Await not the to-morrow," quoth the sage, 
"Else will it bring thee sorrow, want, distress; 
Thy life will be e'en as a scribbled page 
Of jumbled follies, worthless, purposeless." 
Ay, true! Fold not thy hands in idleness, 

• Nor give the hours of labor unto play. — 
Yet, raise thy sweaty brow, where sorrows press; 
Put idle doubts and anxious fears away; — 

To-morrow is the comfort of a sad to-day. 

Welcome, To-morrow! With thee our hopes renew, 
'Tis not thy hand doth dire destruction deal; 
(That is the wage to idle waiting due.) 
A fairer future do thy smiles reveal: 
Thou wilt allay our pains, our fortunes heal. 
In thy fair face doth each a token see 
Of brighter prospects — honor, wealth, and weal. 
If thou wert not, nor would ambition be, 
To spur us on to toil and patient wait for thee. 



PAGE - - - THIRTY-NINE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 1 



In all our passing ills thou biddest hope: 
If storms are raging, thou dost bring the calm; 
We look to thee for light, when blind we grope; 
For noble strife, thou holdest out the palm. 
For all our heart-aches thou hast healing balm ; 
Thy hopeful words put anxious cares away. 
With thee, To-morrow, ends life's bitter qualm: 
The course is run, we've fought and won the fray: 
Thy dawning bringeth us God's evenless To-day. 



Jl 



*m 



IN TIME AND TUNE. 

— 4> — 

List to the music of this wondrous world, 
Where all that is hath voice for melody : 
Each mighty star, as on 'tis ever whirled, 
Plays on the wind a soothing lullaby; 
Bach living thing, on land and in the sea, 
Each heart that pulses in the human breast, 
In measured throbbing sings in harmony. 
One rapturous anthem sounds from east to west: 
Great is the Lord of Hosts, His name be ever blest! 



PAGE - - - - - - FORTY 



? E S T A L - - - - - SONGS 



KANSAS. 

— * — 

Fair Clio, open out thy sacred roll, 
Where thou hast writ the world's great history. 
Where with the style of truth thou dost inscroll 
Fair names and foul, valor and villainy, — 
Names that will live in fame or infamy; 
Where the bright sons of glory, like the stars, 
Break through the shades of night so cheerily, 
Beckoning us on to life's relentless wars, 
Wherein the glories won are marked! with bleeding 
scars. 

Is there a page in that great scroll of thine 
Which is unmarked with struggle, strife, and blood? 
Is there a man, whose name doth glorious shine, 
Who hath not buffeted a furious flood 
Of ills and enemies, — undaunted stood, 
With very life the righteous cause to save? 
If we, as they, would serve the right and good, 
Then e'en as valiantly must we behave, 
Or find eternal sleep in an unhonored grave. 



AGE - - - - - FORTY-ONE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONG 



Turn, Clio, to the page that chronicles 
The glories fair of my own native land; 
That of her fathers and her heroes tells, 
How they her battles fought with ready hand. — 
Fair Kansas! That dear name shall ever stand 
Blazoned and brilliant on time's register. 
And her brave children — see the noble band! 
Heroes as true as ever heroes were. 
Well is she proud of them, as they are proud of her. 

There stand the names, a glorious galaxy:— 
Warriors and statesmen, who with might and main 
Have nobly fought for right and liberty; 
Churchmen and schoolmen, and unlettered swain, 
Those did the heart in goodly maxims train, 
Or taught the mind in wisdom to unfold; 
These with no book but the unfurrowed plain 
Turned the dry prairies into seas of gold — - 
Dear Kansas, made of thee a mine of wealth untold. 

In the dark days of strife, when enemies 

Pressed hard upon thee, bent to make thee slave 

Unto a slavish cause, or in red seas 

Of blood and bitterness thy breast to lave, 



PAGE - - - - FORTY-TW( 



ESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



What gallant hearts then sank beneath the wave 
Of filth and villainy they could not stem; 
Fought to the death, thy spotless name to save! 
If Clio has not written well of them, 
Thou, Kansas, in thy heart, dost hold each one a gem. 

Come, land of my fathers, rouse thee now betimes, 
To sing the praises of each valiant son; 
And bid the four winds in far distant climes 
Tell of the glory their brave hearts have won: — 
Reeder the fearless, and wise Robertson, 
The valiant Browns, the dauntless great Jim Tane. — 
Sing loud the deeds these faithful hearts have done! 
And may each bluff and hill and spreading plain 
Take up and echo back the jubilant refrain! 

And when the clouds of war had rolled away, 
Leaving thee scarred with many a bleeding sore, 
But free and fair, e'en as thou art to-day, 
Then every gaping wound, the fruit of war, 
A valiant champion of freedom bore, 
That fought thy battles, not with bloody sword, 
But with the tongue, the pen, and righteous lore, — 
Made the land ring with truth's almighty word, 
Till peace and plenty should thy smiling fields begird. 



AGE -/ - - - FORTY-THREE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGJ 



And now, Fair Kansas, Queen of all the West, 
Draped in thy waving fields of green and gold, 
With all that earth can ask of heaven blest, 
Peace that is happiness, and wealth untold, 
Full well art thou the home we dearest hold. 
Then live, dear Kansas! Live and prosper on, 
Ever for truth and right a champion bold. 
And brighter be for thee each coming dawn, 
Until the eternal jubilee, when time is gone. 



j Sr 



A CULLED ROSE. 

Fresh and fair as a new-blown rose in May, 

Ruddy with life and redolent with grace, 

Oh, what a flower for the King's bouquet! 

Will not the Father's eye be pleased to trace 

In her the beauty of his own dear face? 

Nay then, weep not that He has plucked the rose, 

And planted it where fadeless beauty grows. 



PAGE - - - - FORTY-FOUR 



.FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



A WONDROUS SONG. 

— 4 — 

At the morning star's first beaming 
In the east, his glad light streaming 
O'er the earth still sweetly dreaming 

Visions fleet, 
Comes sweet music like the singing 
Of angelic choirs winging 
Down from heaven's portals, bringing 

Message sweet. 

Oh! that magic cadence falling 
O'er the earth, the wayward calling 
From the grave of sin enthralling 

Unto life! 
From the chapel windows pouring, 
With the trembling light-waves, soaring 
Heavenward, sweet grace imploring 

For the strife. 



PAGE - - - - FORTY-FIVE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



There is suppliant adoration, 
And a swelling jubilation, 
With a sigh of supplication 

Mingled there; 
Ay, and all the world's distresses 
Here a wondrous song expresses; 
All the ills of life redresses 

That sweet air. 

How that wondrous song doth cheer me, 
Through the darksome shades doth steer me, 
Like a guiding angel near me 

Points the way; 
Till the hopeful light is breaking, 
And the sleeping earth is waking; 
And my heart, new courage taking, 

Greets the day. 

When the busy roar is swelling, 
Still that dulcet strain is welling 
Skyward, and my soul impelling 

To walk aright; 
Echoes still at day's declining, 
When the shades round earth are twining, 
And for rest sick hearts are pining 

And the night. 



PAGE FORTY-SIX 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



Still o'er earth those sweet strains hover, 
Till the last day breaks above her, 
And the shadows settle over 

All the deep; 
Till the joyous song eternal 
Greets the harvesting supernal 
That from toilsome plantings vernal 

Glad we reap. 



A BROTHER'S PRAYER. 

As doth the tide of time, with ceaseless flow, 
Bear on thy bark unto the golden shore, 
Look not behind, past dangers reckoning o'er, 
Nor anxious peer the mists before, to know 
What fiercer storms thy way may yet bestrew. 
Fling worry to the winds; thy soul outpour 
In joyous songs that shame the tempests roar. — 
What tho' the angry winds bluster and blow? 
Fear not their fury, for a Master hand, 
That rules both wind and wave, will pilot thee 
And steer thy little bark safely to land 
And if the gales should unpropitious be, 
Then shall a brother's prayer fill up thy sails 
And speed thee on, till Heaven thy coming hails. 



PAGE - - - - FORTY-SEVEN 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



ROUGH SAILING. 

— ♦ — 

The waves roll on with ceaseless, silent flow, 
Bearing us out upon the trackless seas, 
Far out from port where, in the long-ago, 
We first spread sail to catch the laughing breeze, 
And mingled our voices in the gladsome glees 
Of sinless youth. Oh! how we've later sighed, 
When naught the angry billows would appease, 
To wheel about and stem the flowing tide, 
And seek, within youth's port, the heart's refreshing 
ease. 

Ah! in that harbor blest, what peaceful calm, 
What lack of plaguing care, what wealth of song; 
What friends of truest cast, whose smiles were balm 
To heal each trifling ill and petty wrong! 
There played our little barks the waves among, 
Careless of storms, where shelter was secure. 
Oh, had we tarried in that harbor strong, 
Spurned the vain hopes, that did our hearts allure, 
To spread ambitious sails and the wide seas to tour. 



PAGE - - - - FORTY-EIGHT 



ESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



Too soon fair hopes were scattered to the wind, 
And angry billows tossed our vessels sore. 
Now dire fears beset the anxious mind, 
And friends are none to comfort as of yore; 
Far to the right, to left, behind, before, 
The drifting waves have borne them; and alone 
We're sailing on. But, from the distant shore 
A glad hail comes, from friends that long have gone: 
"Take heart, for here is rest, that all our ills atone!" 

WRITE MUSIC. 

— f — 
Write music, wouldst thou? 'Tis a noble work. 

Yes, write it, play it, sing it ceaselessly. 

Not on this scroll, 
Where soon thy notes will dim and fade away; 

Not for the world, 
Whose silly heart will soon forget thy lay. 
Not so! Write songs that through the heavens may 

ring, 
Songs of eternal love, that seraphs well may sing. 
Write them upon the tablets of thy heart. 
O Youth! write there, with all thy simple art, 
That wondrous, wordless song they only know, 
That follow the Lamb in raiment white as snow. 



AGE - - - - FORTY-NINE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGj 

CiEDMON. 

— ♦ — 

Who taught thee, Caedmon, thus so sweet to sing? 
Who tuned thy lyre to such wondrous strain; 
Trained thy rude fingers light to touch the string, 
And stir the sluggish blood in every vein? 
Where hast thou learned, thou poor unlettered swain? 
Have herds or heather taught thee melody? 
Mayhap the wind, that sweeps the spreading plain 
Hath, in its passing, sung sweet songs to thee, 
Given thy heart a voice to speak such ecstasy. 

Thou speakest with the wisdom of a sage; 
Tellest the history of earth and sky, 
The shame and glory of each passing age; 
Readest the secrets that deep hidden lie. 
Thou hast intoned the praise of God most high, 
Sweetly recounting all His wondrous ways, — 
How beauty's light e'er dwelleth in His eye, 
How Mercy oft the course of Justice stays, — 
These are the enchanting themes of all thy fairest lays. 

Ah, from above thou hast thy noble art; 
'Twas angel fingers tuned thy lyre chords; 

PAGE FIFT 



ESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



A seraph lit the flame within thy heart, 
Gave music to thy voice, wisdom thy words. 
Then rightly do we call thee First of Bards 
That sang to British hearts, taught them to sing. 
And Britain proudly still thy memory guards, 
And bids her sons, like thee the lyre to string, 
And make the vaulted dome with song eterrial ring. 



# 



THE GIDDY WORLD. 

In giddiness the world is reeling on, 

All drunk with pleasure's wine, and drinking still, 
Not asking why, but glutting to the fill. 

Forgot the lessons, that the past had drawn. 

No thought of how the morrow yet may dawn; 
Its only sorrow is the present ill, 
Not recking that in sorrow we must till, 

To reap in gladness what in time we've sown. 

Unreasoning, — for reason long hath fled, 

And better judgment shrinks from coward blame — 

To custom fettered, and to folly wed, 
It lives in slavery and dies in shame. 

Ah! then it waketh from its drunken dream, 

Too late its wanton follies to redeem. 



AGE - - - - - FIFTY-ONE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONG 



DREAMING OF HOME. 

Drearily the days are passing, 

Dragging heavily along, 
While my lonely heart is waiting, 

Sighing, as loved memories throng. 

I can see the loved faces 

In the dear home far away, 
Hear sweet voices whisper gently: 

"Ivove, we think of thee to-day." 

Oh! I wonder, do they truly 

Oft in love remember me? 
When in pleasant dreams they see me, 

Do their hearts beat joyously? 

Do they miss me at the fireside? 

"Where is Frank?" they whisper low;- 
Then in silence sad they ponder, 

Till the love-tears start and flow. 

Ah! 'tis sweet to know they miss me, 
As in stranger lands I roam. — 

Haste ye, days of waiting, haste ye! 

Bear me to the friends that 'wait me, 

To the arms that would embrace me, 
Bear me to my loved home ! 



PAGE FIFTY-TW 



FESTAL 



SONGS 



FRIENDS THAT ARE GONE. 

— ♦ — 

Gone are the sweet-smelling flowers, 

The lilies and lilacs are gone; 
Lone are the old friendly bowers, 
Where mildest the sun-rays shone. 
The chirpers have hushed all their old sweet 
songs, 
And dull is the sparrow's lay; 
While silent in sadness my fond heart longs 
For friends that have passed away. 

Sad is the note of repining 

My soul singeth ever o'er; 
Ah! will the night-shades declining 

Unite us to part no more? 
Lo, now the shadows are falling, 

And pale is the parting ray; 
The Father in heaven is calling; 

And life ebbeth fast away. 

And hark! They are chanting the old sweet 
songs, 
' That gladdened each youthful day. 



p A GE - - - - FIFTY-THREE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



The music hath hushed all my passing wrongs; 
My heart fain would burst life's confining thongs, 
With mighty desire it ever longs 

To part from this mould of clay; 
Ah, then to join those blessed throngs, 
Where friends are friends for aye! 



SONG OF THE STEAM VENT. 

In the days of bleak December, 

When the frost that's in the air 
Sends a shiver through each member, 

Leaves its imprint everywhere; 
Sends an ache into the fingers, 

And a blush unto the nose, — 
Ah, how warm the thought that lingers 

Of the song the steam- vent blows! 

When the morning, all too early, 
Comes to rouse us from sweet rest, 

And reluctantly and surly, 
Slow we leave the cozy nest; 

And malignant laugh the breezes, 
As they scurry down our back, — 



PAGE - - - - FIFTY-FOUR 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



Ah, how sweet the steam- vent wheezes, 
Though its tune all music lack. 

When we're sitting listless, dreaming 

In our chamber snug and warm, 
And the north- winds, wildly screaming, 

Fierce each crack and cranny storm; 
How their war-cry, shrill and freezing, 

Loseth all the dread it lent, 
When it blendeth with the wheezing 

And the whizzing of the vent. 

THE PONY POST. 



Hey oh! for the old post-rider bold, 
In the days of the squatter reign! 
With his eye to the West, and a dauntless breast, 
With his horse and gun for a reckless run, 
He's off o'er the trackless plain. 

As he dashes along, there's a rollicking song 

Floats out on the desert air; 
And his heart is gay as a summer day, 
For the spreading plain is his domain, 

And he is a monarch there. 



PAGE - - - - FIFTY-FIVE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



Many foes there may be ; but little cares he, 

For his heart is unknown to fear. 
Tho' they come in squads, he will meet them at 

odds; 
For a desperate fight is his rare delight; 

And he'll sell the victory dear. 

Though he's reckless bold, and of roughest mold, 

Yet his heart is as true as steel; 
He will stand by a friend to the bitter end, 
Yes, he'll die for him too, like a hero true, 

And love with his blood he'll seal. 

His lawless deed doth no herald need 

It is published loud and long; 
But the daring done, and the hazards run 
For his country's flag, without boast or brag, 

Have little been sung in song: — 

How he sped o'er the plain, dared the leaden rain, 

On a message of high import, 
With the weal of a land within his hand, 
Or the cause of the flag in his saddle bag, 

Nor stopped till he gave report. 



PAGE - - - - - FIFTY-SIX 



STAL - - - - - SONGS 



Then hey oh ! for the old post-rider bold ; 

For his heart was true and brave. 
And we'll sing his name, without fear of blame; 
He shall live in song ever fair, as long 

As the Stars and Stripes shall wave.! 



SWEET SONG. 

— 4 

ThBrE is a lady fair! thou wot'st not of, 
Full many a heart to her is consecrate; 

She's grave and true, yet simple as the dove; 

Earth's sorrow doth her song full compensate. 

She's heaven born, her home is in the skies; 

She comes to earth anon with gladsome glee. 
Her other sisters four the heavens prize; 

Yet of them all she's lovliest to me. 

Rude eyes have often looked upon her face, 
And marked the sombre ringlets of her hair, 

The chastened lips, the perfect form :and grace, 
And all the varied marks of beauty there. 



GE - - - - FIFTY-SEVEN 



FESTAL - - - - - SONG 



They've looked and marvelled; doubted, laughed, 
and scorned; 

Turned from her heavenly shape, to earthen casts, 
To glut their coarser lusts: while I deep mourned, 

That folly thus all fairer judgment blasts. 

Say they: " Her eye is dull, her features tame; 

A sombre shadow dims her golden hair; 
Her cast, too simple to be beauty's frame: — 

No grace of form, no loveliness is there. 

"There is a plaintive cadence in her song, 
A foreign accent mars her fairest words; 

Nor doth her laughter ripple light along, 
E'en as the warbling of the merry birds. 

"Give us blue laughing eyes and flaxen curls, 

Rose-blushing cheeks and ruddy lips, that wear 

A graceful smile, to show their treasured peals, 
And hold a rapturous voice imprisoned there," 

They say; but wot not 'tis unwisely said, 
Nor argue that, in highest beauty's form, 

Within the heart the rarest charms are hid 
Safe from the wanton eye, safe from the storm. 



PAGE - - - - FIFTY-EIGH 



S T A L 



SONGS 



Sweet Music! I have loved thy purest form, 

Thy modest dress, thy genial heart for song. 
The thoughtful find thy words a comfort warm; 

And guileless joy is strewn thy way along. 
May heaven prosper thee and keep thee fair! 

Do thou ne'er ape the bastard prostitute. 
Thou art of heaven, thy heart be ever there, 

Till doth eternal song thy wrongs refute. 



THE BLESSED GOAL. 

— ♦ — 
In the church's holy stillness 

Knelt a lad of tender years; 
In his sinless heart no evil 

Had yet borne distressing fears. 

With his eyes turned to the altar, 

To the surpliced acolyte, 
Thus he mused: " Oh, what a joy 

To be so near the altar's height!" 

And when life's sweet spring had blossomed 

Into summer warm and fair, 
Knelt the youth in flowing surplice 

At the altar steps in prayer. 



AGE - - - - FIFTY-NINE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONG 



On the priest his fond eyes rested, 
Hopeful bliss his bosom swelled: — 
" Oh, a priest, could I be ever ! " 

And the thought glad tears compelled. 

And the Autumn sun rose mildly, 
Youth had into manhood grown. 

At the blessed altar stood he, 
And his face with gladness shone. 

In his hands the heavenly wafer, 
Trembling lips have spoke the word, 

And his heart, in loving wonder 
Prostrate, there his God adored. 

Sweet delight his bosom flooded: 
"Bliss unthought — Sacerdos sum! 

Tongue of angel cannot tell 

The joy that with this hour hath come." 

There at heaven's portal standing, 

He is priest forever more; 
E'er his lips, in prayerful motion, 

Mercy for the world implore. 



PAGE - - - - - - SIXT 



FESTAL - - - - SONGS 



A JOY WAVE. 



A wave of gladness from a sinless heart, 
A peel of laughter of unconscious art, — 
And how the pangs that sore within us smart 
Are gently soothed away! 

'Twas like a sun-ray breaking through the cloud, 
Cheering the hearts erstwhile in anguish bowed; 
A gentle angel, lifting the sorrow-shroud 
That hung upon our way. 

Oh, what a wealth of joyous melody 
Was hid within that pearly "te-he-he" 
I once have heard! And in my memory 
Its music still abides. 

Can darkness linger where the sunbeams play? 
Or brooding silence dwell with cheery lay? 
Nor can the sullen shades of sorrow stay 
That rippling laughter chides. 

Laugh on, light heart, and let thy gladness spread 
With sweet contagion to the sorrow- wed; 
O'er all the land thy gentle light be shed, 
Till earth and heaven meet. 



PAGE - - - - - SIXTY-ONE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



And mayest thou never know the scourging pain 
That racks the mind and bursts the heart in twain. 
Nay, may thy buoyant gladness never wane; 
And heaven thy bliss complete! 



IT 



THE MIND. 



WouldsT know the excellence of the mind, fair 

Youth? 
Then hearken well : — 'Tis mind that marketh thee 
Greater than senseless beast, greater forsooth 
Than all the wealth of things thy eye can see; 
It is thy title unto royalty; — 
For thou art king, the world is thy domain; — 
'Tis e'en a bond of consanguinity, 
That makes thee to the angel hosts germane; 
Nay more, it gives thee likeness to the High Sovereign. 

In truth, thy mind is very treasure-trove: 
A wondrous tool, which, if thou rightly wield, 
Will open earth and all the world above 
Unto thy ken, and priceless riches yield. 



PAGE - - - - - SIXT Y-T W 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



The very heart of earth, the starry field, 
Ay, and beyond the stars the mind explores, 
Till all creation's secrets are revealed; 
Then e'en into the highest heaven it soars, 
And o'er the very mysteries of the Godhead pours. 

Thou hast a mind: oh! see thou use it well; 
Thou art a king, and this thy trusty sword. 
Go, conquer worlds of thought; wisdom compel 
To yield the precious store she hath in ward. 
If thou but press her, she will spread a board 
Fit for the angels, for she lavish deals. 
Cease never thy pursuit; search, gather, hoard, 
Till Death's cold hand thy spirit-bonds unseals, 
And thine is all the wealth eternity reveals. 




PAGE - - - - SIXTY-THREE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



SONGS IMMORTAL. 

There is a song that never dies; 
It bears a message to the heart, 
Its melody is from the skies 

Of purest art. 

Mayhap the strain is commonplace: — 

Yet no discordant note is there, 
And in its pure and simple grace 

There's music rare. 

'Tis full of hope and full of cheer, 

'Tis strong in faith and warm in love; 
'Tis like an angel drawing near 

From realms above. 

Sweet, when the sun a smiling goes; 

E'en sweeter on the clouded day; — 
Ah! sweetest in life's wringing woes, 
That cheering lay. 

O Gentle Bard! Well hast thou sung 
The songs my hungry heart have fed. 



PAGE - - - - SIXTY-FOUR 



ESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



Alas! The lyre is unstrung, 

Thy spirit fled! 

The songs are cold that now I hear, 

And discord mars their melody. 
Will ever voice like thine so clear 
Sing unto me? 

But thou still liv'st, immortal Bard, 

Thy warm heart pulses in thy song. 
To lighten all our burdens hard 

Life's way along. 



WHERE IS HAPPINESS? 

Is there a clime where happiness ne'er wanes, 
Where ever thro' the clouds the sunbeams play; * 
Where purest joys come with the sorest pains ; 
Earth's very discords blend in tuneful lay? 
Is there a sky where reigns eternal day, 
Where never darkness spreads its gloom around; 
Where all life's sorrows quickly pass away, 
And peace unruffled ever doth abound? 
Ah ! In such paradise unbroken praises sound. 



PAGE - - - - SIXTY-FIVE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONG 



O Happiness, where is thy loved retreat? 
In royal hearts, where lurks a nation's woe? 
Are wealth and want alike thy fashion meet? 
Can gold redeem thee, or can might bestow? 
If e'er with wealth and might thou dwell'st below, 
These earn thee not; oft bar thee, bear thee ill. 
Crowned kings, and nobles, and the common row 
May all possess thee, feel thy rapturous thrill, 
If in thy berth they seek thee — God's thrice-holy Will. 

Sweet Will of God! Thou happiness supreme; 
Thou key to all the bliss that earth can bear. 
From the hard yoke of self thou dost redeem; 
Soothest the pains that time must ever share. 
Be in my wayward heart, be always there; 
Be in my hands, and in my stubborn mind; 
That I may spurn life's joys, its sorrows dare, 
And pass them by, e'en as the idle wind, 
Till in thy heaven-home eternal bliss I find. 



page SIXTY-SI 



ESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



TO A YOUTH. 



There is a sparkle in that youthful eye 
Of boyish playfulness without offence; 
A rosiness, as of the summer sky, 
Dwells on his cheek — the blush of inncoence. 
There is a music that the heart contents 
Rings from his buoyant soul upon the air; 
But truer song his sinless heart invents. 
Oh, what a wealth of melody is there, 
That bids the troubled mind forget oppressive care. 

But, even as the roses bud and blow, 
Then wilt and die, — will these fair youthful charms 
Soon fade away? No, may it not be so! 
May never wintry frosts that beauty harm; 
May e'er his youthful heart beat quick and warm 
And sing his joyful songs, as now he doth, 
To cheer the night and still the bitter storm. 
Ay, may he find on Jesus' Heart in truth 
That blessed living font, where springs eternal youth. 



>AGE - - - - SIXTY-SEVEN 



FESTAL - - - - - SONG Si 



A NEGLECTED TOME. 



How rich and varied Truth's exhaustless store, 
Than gold more precious, fairer than the gem 
Of rairest hue, from far-off India's shore, 
That glistens upon royal diadem. 
Those priceless tomes, how have I treasured them! 
How eager o'er their freighted pages poured: 
There learned earth's fleeting follies to contemn, 
And that day count a loss that hath not stored 
A jeweled thought away, from truth-fields new-explored. 

Those priceless volumes, venerable with age, 
Well worn with use of Time's rough hand and mine; 
A thousand thumb-marks tell the favorite page 
That doth its music round the heart entwine. 
Upon one only tome appears no sign 
Of eager searchings. Lone upon the shelf 
It stands neglected, though a treasure-mine 
Is hidden there, richer than wordly pelf, — 
The prime of all the sciences: "Know first thyself." 



PAGE - - - - SIXTY-EIGHT 



FESTAL - - - - SONGS 



Take down the volume from its dusty place, 
Make it thy bosom friend, thy counselor. 
It will reveal to thee thy hidden face, 
Tell thee of things thou hadst not dreamed before. 
With patient diligence con its pages o'er, 
Until its words sink deep into thy heart. 
Thou may' st not relish them, yet needest them sore. 
Then hear them bravely, wince not, if they smart, 
Till thou hast mastered well this most divinest art. 






TO YOUTH. 



WE love the morning sun that riseth fair; 
So pure and friendly smiles the first glad ray, 
Banishing darkness, lightening each care, 
And bidding us to hope a gladsome day. 
But is the hope secure? will it fade away? 
Though Sol march glorious as new-wedded groom 
E'en to the zenith on his royal way; 
What will the setting be, in glory or gloom, 
And a fair dawn's evening be dismal as the tomb? 



PAGE - - - - SIXTY-NINE 






FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



Oh, sad! to see a life, that glorious dawned 

With all youth's beauty, all its gracious light, 

Fail of the fairest hopes we cherished fond, 

Turn dark and dismal as a starless night! 

'T would not so wring the heart, had it dawned less 

bright, 
Had hope ne'er blossomed, in the bud had died. 
But when it rose in glory, grew in might, 
How sad, to see dull clouds its beauty hide, 
All youth's fair promises in blighted age belied! 

Thou laughing lad, in life's glad morning light, 
Fair as the dawn and pure as the sun's first ray, 
Blithe as the lark upon its skyward flight ! 
Thou mayest hope, and well, a blessed day, 
If, as the sun upon its royal way, 
Thou wax in warmth of love and purity, 
Piercing the clouds that would thy progress stay. 
Then will the evening as the morning be, 
Glorious and bright and fair, thy crown of victory. 



*# 



PAGE SEVENTY 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



AN ABSENT FRIEND. 



Whither's the friend, the comfort of my soul, 
Whose guileless heart could only blessings deal; 
Whose bosom like a mother's could condole; 
Who had no care save for a brother's weal? 
His smiles were like the gilded rays, that steal 
So cheerily o'er the eastern hills at morn, 
Lifting the veil of darkness to reveal 
The wealth of gems that doth the earth adorn. 
Oh! how my widowed soul with sorest grief is torn! 

How fled the gloom before his beaming eye, 
Whose darkest frown was as a summer cloud, 
Which, quickly past, but leaves a fairer sky. 
Did ever darkness quite his soul enshroud? 
And what a solace to my spirit, bowed 
And bending 'neath the cross that life bestows. 
Now in my heart the grateful memories crowd, 
To check my griefs and soothe my burning woes, 
And scatter the dark fantasies that bar repose. 



PAGE - - - - SEVENTY-ONE 



FESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



And is he gone, that hath my comfort been, 
Whose voice was music, ecstacy his song? 
Nay; space divides not souls that are akin; 
They love and laugh and labor still along, 
And smile in spirit as glad memories throng, 
Living again their joys and sorrows o'er. 
Yea, in fond memory, a prison strong, 
Thy spirit dwells and shall depart no more, 
Till we eternal meet on heaven's golden shore. 



MISTRUST IT. 



Beauteous as this world of wonders seems, 
Mistrust it all, 'tis but an empty show. 
Vain is the glory that so brilliant gleams; 
Insane the pleasures that its hands bestow. 
Oh, were our hearts less curious to know, 
Less clear the vision of our mortal eyes! 
Ah, then would heaven's light the fairer glow; 
Nor would our joys be fewer, but more wise, 
Defeating not our race for the eternal prize. 



PAGE - - - - SEVENTY-TWC 



ESTAL - - - - - SONGS 



A RAY OF SUNSHINE. 



A little ray of sunshine 

Stealing through the gloom, 
Playing where wilted flowers 

Lie sleeping in their tomb; 
Bringing a touch of gladness 

To the dismal day. 
O little ray of sunshine, 

Stay forever, stay! 

Peeping through my window, 

Laughing cares away; 
Bringing back sweet memories 

Of the flowers of May; 
Making life so cheerful 

With thy warmth and light;- 
When thy smile is hidden, 

There is dismal night. 

Mayest thou linger ever, 
Always bright and fair; 

May thy smile e'er cheer me 
In the press of care. 



AGE - - - SEVENTY-THREE 



FESTAL 



SONG 



E'en when day is dying, 
Do thou linger on: — 

O little ray of sunshine, 
Tarry till the dawn. 




PAGE 



SEVENTY-FOU 



Xiut iuc v< V* M V 1 

A A A A A A 



{Thoughts for the Seasons 



X X ire X X X X 



y* 



x 



x 



X 



X 



X 



X 



if I 



X 



X 



X 



X 



X 



X 



X 



OUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



NEW YEAR'S MUSINGS. 

— ♦ — 

Nearer, my God, to Thee, 

Nearer sweet home, 
Are the years drifting me 
Over life's troubled sea, 

Light o'er its foam. 

Swiftly we glide along, 

Dark though the way, 
Through the world's careless throng, 
Cheering the night with song, 

Waiting for day; 

Hoping for light to see, 

As we sail on, 
What may the morning be, 
Glory or gloom to me, 

At heaven's dawn. 

What are the passing years? 

Those that are gone, 
What have they left but fears, 
Thoughts that wring bitter tears, 

Victories un-wori. 



SEVENTY-SEVEN 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



Ah, but the new-born year, 

Mercy's last boon, — 
Canst thou the darkness peer? 
Hath it a smile to cheer? 

Breaks the day soon? 

Cease thy vain worrying; 

Courage, my soul! 
Whether of joy it bring, 
Or sorrow's bitter sting; 

Clear we the goal. 

Fight? That we must; then on! 

Away, coward fear! 
Soon are the battles won, 
Soon breaks the golden dawn 

Of God's blessed year. 






PAGE - - - SEVENTY-EIGHT 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



WHAT'S IN A NAME 



What's in a name? 
Is't but a mark that separates 
Like things? No more doth designate, 

Nor end nor aim? 

'Tis often so: 
An idle name of an idle thing, 
What import can it ever bring, 

Or worth foreshow? 

One name is there, 
The sweetest that was ever spoke, 
That love-sighs in the saying choke, 

Such bliss doth bear. 

What joyous thrills 
The accents of that name awoke, 
As from the Angel's lips they broke 

O'er juda's hills! 

Its echoes still 
Ring o'er the earth in cadence sweet, 
And with a bliss beyond conceit 

The heavens fill. 



PAGE - - - SEVENTY-NINE 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



O joyous, hallowed sight! 

My eyes have seen the Savior's blessed face! 

How did I sigh and pray and weep, 

While yet mine eyes could bear the light, 

To see the long Expected of my race, 

And then to rest me in eternal sleep! 

How have I peered the long and dismal night, 

To catch but one faint ray of this glad day! 

And this is He, the Promised One, 

The light, of Heaven sent 

To th' illumination of the gentile race, 

The glory of my people Israel! 

What tongue can tell 

The joy this day my heart hath lent! 

What voice hath ever sung 

Of such a flood of mercy's grace! 

And this is He, Thy Holy Son, 

A ray of Thine own blessed face ! 

And this is He, the long expected One! 

O Israel ! behold thy Savior, 

Come to save thee from thy thrall, 

Come to light thy way, to call 

All nations to Jehovah's mighty throne. 



PAGE - - - EIGHTY-TWC 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASON 



And wilt thou hear and heed his blessed word? 
Oh! what a vision passed my spirit sight! — 
Tame-hearted perfidy! 
Stiff-necked wilfulness ! 
Blind fury's madness! 

turn not, Israel, from the light. 

My people, wilt not hear, not heed? 

But they shall hear and glorify — 

The Gentiles — and shall magnify 

This Holy One, 

Whose blessed name shall stead them in their need. 

" Oh, house of Israel! why wilt thou die ! " 

Wilt thou repudiate the fairest son 

Of all thy noble stock, 

And like a bastard breed 

Turn traitor to thy own, 

And wag thy silly head, and mock 

Whom heaven sends thee life to give? 

"Why wilt thou die? 

Return and live ! ' ' 

No! Father, let the vision pass! 

1 would not see the end ! 
Alas ! Alas ! 

That this, of all days blest, 



PAGE - - - EIGHTY-THREE 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASON I 



Should thus be clouded by forecast of ill; 

And bitter pangs my bosom rend, 

That naught but joy should fill, 

Where God's Annointed deigns to rest. 

Yea, Father! 'tis enough! I've lived to see 

The Savior of my nation. 

Now abide thy hallowed word, 

And bid me home to Thee, 

To taste the bliss the heavens award — 

Salvation ! 



LENT. 



Season of sweet sorrow, ' 
That opens the fountains of repenting tears, 
And turns to hope what plagued us sore with fears, 
And e'en redeems the loss of wasted years. 

Season of fair labor, 
When every seed doth goodly harvest hold, 
When every pain bears wealth of joy untold, 
And giving, we receive an hundred-fold. 



PAGE - - - - EIGHTY-FOU] 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



Season of love's reaping, 
When eagerly we seek Life's ruddy tree, 
Taste of its precious fruit and wondering see 
How sweet unto the longing heart it be. 



A MARCH VERSE. 

— ♦ — 

The virgin snows are fled: 
They have resolved them to repenting tears, 
To mourn the joys that yield to sterner fears, 
When youth is sped. 

Now do the March winds moan: 
They sing the lenten lamentations low, 
And weep the bitter drops, that yet must flow, 
Sin to atone. 

Yet March doth smile betimes: 
The somber robes he doth not ever bear, 
The clouds unveil anon to visions fair 
Of better climes. 



PAGE - - - - EIGHTY-FIVE 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



How then the prospect cheers, 
When heaven's portals seem to stand ajar, 
And blessed friends smile on us from afar 
To dry our tears. 

There Blessed Joseph stands,— 
Keeps loving watch, thro' all these blustery days; 
There Thomas, angel doctor, pens the lays 
For Seraph bands. 

Loved Erin's saint is there, 
And Benedict with all his children blest; 
Sweet Mary, humbly bowed to heaven's behest! 
Ah, visions fair! 

Stern March, we bid thee hail! 
The cheering prospects of the realms of light 
Do break but clearer on our troubled sight 
Through darksome veil. 

And those sweet echoed strains, 
E'en thro' thy bitter gales and howling winds, 
Strike sweeter on the ear, and lift our minds 
To bliss domains. 



PAGE - - - - EIGHTY-SIX 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



MARCH. 

— ♦ — 
I love thee, March, despite thy changing moods: 
For when thy blustering, bitter blasts are gone, 
There is a murmur in the silent woods, 
As of returning life ; a milder sun 
Looks gracious on awakening nature down, 
And bids the grasses start so cheerily; 
The hills and vales their hopeful green put on. 
And ah! the Fruit that ripens oft with thee, 
The Firstling of the year, that grows on Calvary. 

AN APOLOGY. 

— ♦— 
Hear me, O Man, and do thou mark my words:— 
Here lies my Master; He hath yielded meek 
Unto my power. My hand hath struck Him down; 
But 'twas His will, that so it should be done. — 
His will is all my strength, else have I none. — 
Thou call'st me cruel, cold and ghast and grim. 
If I appear thus, I do but appear, 
And am not that, which to thy dazzled eyes 
And misty vision I may seem to be. 



PAGE - - - EIGHTY-SEVEN 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



Behold my Lord and thine here in my arms; 
Of His free will He yields to my embrace. 
Am I then cruel? Nay, call me not so. 
My face, I own, is dark, my breath is chill, 
My hands are icy. Yet thou must agree, 
That these are but the outward accidents, 
And nowise tell what lies within the heart. 
'Tis true, I am the hangman of my Lord; 
Yet none less faithful have I served Him e'er. 
When at His word I strike the fatal blow 
(Without His word, such stroke I should not dare) 
'Tis when and where and how He ordereth; 
And I assure thee, Man, He ordereth well, 
And milder than thy evil deeds have earned. 
Thou art a criminal, earth 's thy prison cell; 
And I am here to deal thee chastisement. 
If I do strike thee sharply, blame not me; 
Blame but thyself and thy most evil works. 
Here at the tomb of Life, learn not to flinch, 
As until now thou hast, at my approach. 
Meet me with courage like a soldier true; 
Nay, hail me glad as thy deliverer. 
Then safe I'll lead thee thro' the dismal veil 
Unto thy home, where life shall never fail. 



PAGE - - - EIGHTY-EIGHT 



H U G H T S 



FOR 



THE 



SEASONS 



AT THE DAWN. 



When the skies the first ray tinges, 
As the glad day cometh on, 

And the hills the soft light fringes, 
As the night's dark veil is drawn, 

How the soul wakes up to pleasure, 

And the heart beats glad in measure 
At the dawn. 

When the eyes are worn with waking — 
For the night drags heavy on — 

And the heart seems nigh its breaking, 
Racked with visions ghast and wan, 

Ah, how welcome day's first gleaming, 

With its cheery, glad hopes teeming 
At the dawn. 

When but thistles we are reaping, 

Life for us wears darksome frown; 

When young joys have turned to weeping, 
Courage fails us, strength is gone; 

Then how glad the beacon's shining, 

As the night is fast inclining 
Unto dawn. 



G E 



EIGHTY-NINE 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASON 



When the death shades long have tarried, 
And the gloom 's but denser grown; 

When our fondest hopes are buried 
Calvary's dismal crest upon; 

Ah, how glad the soul's awaking 

To the glories of the breaking 
Easter dawn. 



fffi 



LONGING FOR DAY. 



Heavy the shadows hang o'er hill and dale, 

For night is on. 
When will the Master's hand withdraw the veil, 
To reveal the dawn? 
Break thro' the dome of the sky, 

O celestial light! 
Gladden the pilgrim's sorrow, 
Brighten the coming morrow, 
After the night. 



PAGE NINET 



HOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



Ah, what a dismal darkness wrapped the earth 

When sin was born! 
When will the eastern sky give gladsome birth 
To the Savior's morn? 
Come from thy home above, 

O redeeming Lord! 
Break our bonds oppressing, 
Soothe our pains distressing, 
Savior adored! 

Happiest is the day that dawneth fair 

When life is done; 
Gone is the toil, and gone is every care; 
The prize is won! 
Hail, blessed day of redemption, 

Break anon! 
In thy abounding pleasure, 
Dealt without weight or measure, 
We live ever on. 



Jt 



> A G E - - - - - NINETY-ONE 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEAS 



VICTORY OF LIFE. 

O day above all others blest, 
On which our Savior rose, 

And all the ills of life redressed 
And vanquished all our foes. 

He, dying, saved us from the doom, 
Sweetened the bitter strife; 

And, rising glorious from the tomb, 
Made death the way to life. 

O Grave, where is thy victory? 

O Death, where is thy sting? 
Now let our song of jubilee 

Loud through the heavens ring! 

Then let us with our Savior rise,- 
Rise from the grave of sin ; 

On heaven fix our longing eyes, 
A life of grace begin. 

Thy death, O Jesus, be our grace 
To live and die for thee ; 

Thy glorious rising be the the pledge 
Of a glad eternity. 



PAGE - - - - NINETY 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



ALLELUJA! 



Sing joyful! Let the Alleluja swell, 
Greeting the day that dawns so gloriously, 
This blessed day the Lord hath made so well, 
When Death is swallowed up in victory. 
Join Earth and Heaven in glad jubilee, 
Sing loud the triumph Life hath borne away, 
When from the sun that set on Calvary, 
Gloomy and dark, there burst a brilliant ray 
That gave eternal birth to this thrice holy day. 






MAY. 



May, fairest queen! 
What can I say of thee, 
That is unsaid? 
What can I write, but thoughts 
Long writ and read 
Of thy beauties rare, seen and unseen? 



PAGE - - - NINET Y-T H R E E 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



Thou art so kind! 
Smiling on all around; 

Breathing so soft 
On the young flowerets; 

Wafting aloft, 
All their sweetest perfumes on the wind. 

Bounteous too! 
Decking the fields in green, 

Tinting with gold 
Daisies and buttercups 

As they unfold; 
Giving each little bud its bright hue. 

And thy bright lay! 
How it enraptures us, 

Soft as it floats 
On the mild breath of morn. 
All its sweet notes, 
Winging heaven-ward, bear us away. 

Wilt thou remain? 
Ah, will all beauty fade, 

Wither away, 
Scorched in the summer's heat? — 
Short is thy stay; 
For thy beauty's of earth — passing, vain. 



PAGE - - - - NINETY-FOUR 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 

Ah, look above! 
Queen of th' eternal May 

Of heaven's year! 
Thy beauty never fades ; 

Flourishes e'er 
In the ever green realms of love. 

SWEET MAY. 



SwEET May! the fairest daughter of the year, 
All fresh and buoyant in life's waking dawn, 
Thy genial smile to all the world is dear; 
Fond memory clings to thee when thou art gone. 

Under thy gentle hand the flowers unfold, 
The violet, the lily, and the rose; 
A burst of music greets thee from the wold, 
And ever sweet, the lay unmeasured flows. 

Decked out in Nature's richest robe of green, 
Thy brow with wreath of rarest flowers crowned, 
Thou art a picture faint of Heaven's Queen 
Mary, in dazzling glory circled round. 



PAGE - - - - NINETY-FIVE 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



O fairest Virgin, in whose sinless heart 
The sweetest flowers of heaven bloom for aye, 
This month, bedecked with nature's fairest art, 
We consecrate to thee, sweet Queen of May. 

Oh, let the fragrance of thy virtues spread 
Into the hearts of all that cherish thee; 
And on their sweetness may their souls be fed, 
That they may grow in beauty heavenly. 



THE HEART THAT NEVER FAILS 



When cold adversity dost meet, 
And time seems out of joint, 
True friends with balm of sympathy 
Thy bruised heart anoint. 

If friends forget or prove untrue, 
Still mother's heart remains, 

To comfort in the hour of need 
And soothe thy burning pains. 



PAGE - - - - NINETY-SIX 



HOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



When she is gone, where wilt thou seek 
A hand thy wounds to dress? 

Must thou then face life's bitter woes 
Friendless and comfortless? 

Nay; there's a Heart will never fail, 

Truer than truest friend, 
More thoughtful than a mother's heart, 

Yearning its love to spend. 

The Heart that bled on Calvary, 

To rescue thee from hell ; 
The Heart that love holds prisoner 

Within the altar's cell. 

Though all the world against thee stand, 
Thy friends and e'en thine own, — 

Within that Heart thou'lt find a love 
Will all thy griefs atone. 

Ay, e'en shouldst thou ungrateful turn 
From that dear Heart's caress, 

Returning penitent, thou'lt find 
Love and forgiveness. 



AGE - - - NINETY-SEVEN 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASON 

O Heart divine, that all the world 
Dost compass with Thy love, 

Be thou our comfort here below, 
Our jubilee above. 

A JUNE SONG. 



When Israel, redeemed from bondage, went 
Un watered and unfed thro' desert waste, 
How thankfully their parched lips did taste 

The potion graciously of Heaven sent. 

What wondrous fountain hath the rocks unpent 

What soothing draught hath sorrow's cup replaced, 
And bath refreshing all their stains erased, 

Reviving life, renewing forces spent! 

Yon was a type, a faintest shadow cast 
Of the unfailing fount that richest flows, 
Thro' Sion's vales and spreading meadows vast. 

These waters' dulcet sweetness best she knows, 

Who quaffed them fresh e'en at their fountain head, 
As from the rent Rock of Calvary they sped. 



PAGE - - - NINETY-EIGH 



HOUGHTS FOR THE SEASON 



O Rock of Ages, rent for sinful me, 
From out thy sacred bruises ever stream 
The limpid waters, which rare blessings teem, 
Oh ! how my soul would rest serene in Thee ! 
Thou'rt patient still of my iniquity, 
Impatient of that day's first breaking gleam, 
When grace returning shall my soul redeem, 
And from Egyptian thraldom set me free. 
O Blessed Heart ! where centre all my hopes ! 
Where burns the flame that lighteth up the way, 
Without thy heavenly light my soul but gropes 

In darkness utter, waiting for the day. 
Oh! bear yet with my soul's infirmities, 
Till purged, it find in Thee eternal peace. 

A ROSEBUD. 

A little rose bud, by a limpid stream, 
Grows in a quiet spot where woodbird trills. 
'Tis but just waking from its childhood dreams, 
Drinking the dew drops that the sky distills, 
Dancing with zephyrs that frolic o'er the hills, 
Catching the sunbeams that from heaven dart. 
And its sweet fragrance all the woodland fills, 
Ah ! may thou aye be fair, as now thou art, 
Until thou find thy place upon thy Master's heart 



AGE - - - - NINETY-NINE 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASON 



LOOKING AHEAD. 



O June, thy name strikes sweet upon the ear, 
Thou thrill 'st the hearts that Time doth now divide; 
For thou wilt hush the sigh and dry the tear, 
Bring friend to friend, give back the mother's pride. 
Thy hand bestoweth laurels that abide, 
Throws wide the doors that lead to pleasuredom. 
Oh! would that Time would mend his sluggish stride, 
Speed lightly o'er the days, till thou art come, 
To sing thy sweetest song, immortal Home Sweet Home. 

Thy elder sister months hath each her charm, 
Each hath a winning smile or soothing lay: — 
Now February greets us through the storm; 
Soon March's gales will brush the clouds away. 
Then sleeping earth will yield to April's sway, 
The fields and woods will don their brightest green ; 
The laughing flowers all will blow in May. 
And then, — Oh, then ! — sweet June, with radiant mien 
Wilt come with restful ease our toils to intervene. 



PAGE HUNDRE 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



LOOKING BACK. 



How fair was youth, with cloudless breaking dawn- 
Its sinless joys, its daring, boastful power; 

Its strifes and struggles, less of fight than frown, 
That passed as fleet ase'er did April shower, 

And left the hearts but warmer, closer drawn, 
Till budded, bloomed eternal friendship's flower. 
Oh, truly blessed youth's unsullied hour, 

Will it e'er return? Or is it ever gone? 

And will those blessed days ne'er live anew? 

May not old breasts rekindle youthful fire ? 
Repulse the heart, its sorrows bid adieu? 

Relive the joys, retune the gladsome lyre? 
Ah! memories loved are crowding into view; 

The heart would glad from present cares retire 

To golden days that knew nor ache nor ire, 
Whose sun was brighter, fairer heaven's blue. 

Ah, yes! youth's sunny days, we'll live them o'er; 

Its friendly faces we shalLgreet again; 
Its scenes of joyous sport, its romp and roar, 

Will stir within our hearts the boyish vein. 



PAGE - - HUNDRED AND ONE 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



Come back then, comrades of the days of yore, 
Come sing the songs that gallant sung we then ! 
And may the old spirit never suffer wane, 

But live to buoy us up forever more. 




VAIN JOYS AND TRUE. 



"Away with books! The time of rest we hail!" 
And giddy with glee, the youth hies to his sports, 
Searches thro' summer woods, o'er hill and dale, 
To find diverting pleasure's fair resorts. 
Pleasure he wooes, her only favor courts; 
Her smile is sunshine, dismal night her frown; 
Her call all better enterprizes thwarts, 
For she is mistress. In her floral crown, 
She leads the merry dance, the verdant fields adown. 



PAGE - - HUNDRED AND TWO 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



On through perfumed woods she leads the way, 
With song as sweet as ever siren sang; 
While in her train are lads and maidens gay, 
And ring the hills with glee, as ne'er they rang. 
If in some breast there starts a secret pang, 
'Tis quickly soothed by her caressing hand; 
And on they trip, where thick the woodbines hang; 
Nor hush the voices of that merry band, 
Till night his curtain drops upon the sleeping land. 

O guileless youth, with heart unknown to ill, 
Hearken the words that Wisdom speaks to thee: 
Drink not the cup of Pleasure to thy fill, 
For death oft lurks, where fairest pleasures be. 
Vain are the joys of earth that quickly flee, 
And leave in the heart a gnawing emptiness 
Which feeding stills not, trains to mastery. 
One only joy nor dies nor waxes less, — 
The joy that Jesus brings the soul in love's caress. 



V 



PAGE - HUNDRED AND THREE 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



DREAMING. 



I've wandered back unto the old homestead 
And lingered long amid its shady bowers, 
Inhaled the sweetness of its rarest flowers, 

And dreamed of brighter days that long have fled, — 

Lived o'er the sports and pranks with Tom and Ned, 
And all the sinless joys that then were ours, 
When youth was buoyant, unimpaired its powers, 

And days and weeks and years so lightly sped. 

Ah! how the dream stirred up the boyish fire, 
And waked a longing to be young again, 

To put aside the cares that come with years, 

To right the wrongs of age and dry its tears, 
And tune to lightest air the youthful lyre — 

And all my soul approving sighed ; Amen. 



S&s 



PAGE - HUNDRED AND FOUR 



HOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



FADED FACES. 



Among the pictures of youth's golden dawn, 
Which memory loves to finger o'er and o'er, 
Are some, as time recedes, she treasures more: 

Tear-stained and dim — the faded faces gone. 

Ah! faded, yes, from earth, ne'er from the heart! 
Washed in the flow of years, those forms appear 
But fresher to the eye, and fair and dear 

And friendly as the day that saw us part. 

Yes, how they smile, as kindly as of yore, 
When through the starting tears our eyes behold 
Their loved faces, and our hearts unfold 

Scenes of the past from memory's treasured store! 

But they're no more, from earth and us they've gone 
Unto the clime that knows but fairest day. 
Yet, tho' they've gone and passd their forms away, 

Their memories still within our hearts live on. 



AGE - - HUNDRED AND FIVE 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



OLD VACATION. 



There's a song of gladness, 

There's a song of glee 
Swells to very madness, 

When the "boys" are free; 
And away they scurry, 

Restless of delays, 
In a wanton hurry 

For dear vacation days. 

Then there's gladsome greeting 
Of loved ones and friends; 

And there's tales repeating, 
School-life odds and ends. 

But there's an abating 
Of the joyous craze, 

For there's work awaiting 

Those old vacation days. 
Now the primp collegian 

Rigs him in blue jean, 
Hies him to the region 

Of the busy swain. 



PAGE - - HUNDRED AND 



HOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



Hoes and plows and pitch-forks 
Plague him till he's sore; 

And he heartily wishes 
Vacation days were o'er. 



A PRECIOUS STREAM. 



There's music in the murmur of the brook, 
As it ripples o'er its rocky bed along; 
There is a freshness in the shaded nook 
Upon its verdant bank, where woodland song 
Lulls but to burst in strain more rich and strong. 
Here is the earthly shrine of rest and peace; 
Here from thy sorrows canst thou find release. 

The weary hart, from out the hunted herd, 
Here finds a shelter from pursuing foe; 
Here rests his tired limbs when he has erred 
Far from his lair; here in the brooklet's flow 
He finds refreshing draught, while sweet and low 
The murmuring zephyrs fan his heated frame, 
And still the fears that did his breast inflame. 



AGE - HUNDRED AND SEVEN 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASON 



From out the reft in Calvary's rugged sides, 

In the deep shade of Life's wide-spreading tree, 

A precious stream forever silent glides. 

But how refreshing sweet its waters be, 

They only know who taste. Oh! taste and see': 

How grateful to the heart its cooling draught, 

That stills thy thirstings all, when thou hast quaft. 

There's wondrous virtue in that ruddy stream: — 
The languid spirit will it new restore; 
Make life's pale light with fairer luster gleam; 
'Twill lave the stain and heal the burning sore; 
Give back the buoyancy of youth once more. 
'Tis Love's exhaustless stream that takes its start 
Where Love was born — in Jesus' wounded Heart. 



^ 



THE QUEEN'S DAY. 



There was a wondrous pageant passed 
From earth to heaven high; 

The way was all with light o'ercast, 
That streamed from out the sky; 



PAGE- - HUNDRED AND EIGH 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



And hosts of angels were arrayed 

In glory on each side; 
While floods of joyous music swayed 

Throughout the heavens wide. 

All earth was awed and stood aghast, 
Trembling 'twixt joy and fear, 

As stately the procession passed, 
And unto heaven drew near. 

She trembled at the brilliant light 
That from the heavens streamed; 

She gloried in her daughter bright, 
The first of the redeemed. 

For lo! upon a golden throne, 

With song of jubilee, 
They bear aloft her chosen one, 

The Maid of Galilee. 

And louder swell the joyous songs; 

They bear their precious load 
High up above the angel throngs, 

Unto the throne of God. 



PAGE - -HUNDRED AND NINE 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



And heaven's King, with gracious mien, 
Looks on His daughter fair, 

And crowns her all creation's Queen 
With crown of jewels rare. 

The song triumphant louder rings, 
Till earth takes up the strain. 

And now a double chorus sings 
The jubilant refrain. 



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RETREAT. 



To-day thou comest from thy lone retreat, 
Where in deep silence thou hast watched and prayed, 
Purging thy soul to be a dwelling mete 
For thy dear Lord, in mercy sweet arrayed. 
Oh! how all earth and passing pleasures fade 
When Jesus comes with joyous jubilee! 
How love divine doth all the soul invade, 
Attuning it to heaven's sweet melody! 
May this glad day foreshow a blest eternity! 



PAGE - - HUNDRED AND TEN 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



A TRUE FRIEND. 



From earliest dawn, when first the blessed light 
Broke on my infant vision, friendly eyes 
Have eager, loving watched me from the skies; 

A guiding hand hath steered my steps aright 
Through all the dismal night. 

When childish folly led me oft to brinks 

Of yawning precipices where death lies hid, 
That angel hand my waywardness hath chid, 

And stayed me. How the thought my spirit shrinks, 
And life well-nigh unlinks! 

When storm clouds gathered in their dread array, 
And all the furies clamored for release, 
'Twas that same guardian whispered words of 
peace ; 
That same hand brushed the threatening clouds away, 
And gave back smiling day. 

And when the baser man would lead me on, 
To crucify the Crucified anew, 
That gentle whisper comes: "Be not untrue!" 



PAGE HUNDRED AND ELEVEN 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



And presently the evil one is gone, 
And Heaven smileth down. 

O gentle Angel, hover near alway; 

Speak words of peace, of warning, and of hope. 

Lead me aright, for in the dark I grope, 
Until I reach the realm of heaven gay, 
Where there is endless day. 

OCTOBER. 

Gentle October, silent, calm, serene, 

How have I loved thy simple modest grace ! 
It was a master hand that traced thy face. 

Thy beauty is not bold, 'tis, oft unseen; 

Thou wearest no gorgeous tints, no brilliant green. 
But ah! the soothing charm of thy embrace, 
Thy cheery smiles, that all my ills erase, 

And bid me hope anew, and wait the e'en. 

Ah, when the soul has lived the seasons through — 

Springs' youthful joys, its works, its worries too, 

The sterner Summer, with its labors hard, 

That oft the harvest did but half reward, — 

Ah, then thou comest with unruffled mien, 

With hope and peace and rest, sweet Autumn Queen ! 



PAGE - HUNDRED AND TWELVE 



HOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



AUTUMN ROSES 



SwEET Autumn roses, fairest of the year, 

Like smiles from Heaven come our hearts to cheer ! 

For the fond memories you bring of May, 

And life and love that was another day, 

You're doubly dear. 

These five behold, arrayed in spotless white, 
Shining like crystal snow with luster bright. 
They breathe a love, and joy, and purity 
As sweet and rapturous as the mystery 

Of Christmas night. 

And this dear quintet, each a blushing rose, 
As fragrant as the precious wine that flows 
From the five fountains of forgiving Love. 
Oh! how their sweetness bears the heart above 

Life's bitter throes! 

And these, of regal golden, glorious hue, 
Bright as the morn fresh washed in heaven's dew! 
What*cheering, grateful memories they bring, 
Hopes that will blossom in eternal Spring, 

And life renew. 



PAGE HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASON! 



I'll wreathe a triple garland of these three, — 
Glad Joy, forgiving Love, bright Victory,— 
And wear it on my heart forever more, 
And let its fragrance deep in my bosom pour,- 

Sweet Rosary! 



LOVE'S BOUQUET. 



With fairest flowers thou hast decked the breast 
Of thy Belov'd, O noblest of thy kind. 
How with divinest art thy hand hath twined 

The buds of varied hue, plucked from the crest 

Of yonder hill, where slept thy Love oppressed, 
And from the vale, where'er His way did wind, 
And from the garden, where His soul hath pined 

And melted it away in grief's arrest. 

And where His footsteps led to sunny bowers, 
There didst thou eager cull the brighter flowers; 
Where as a babe He slept, where youthful strayed, 
Where walked amidst the crowd, where silent prayed ,- 
Bach spot has yielded thee a blossom rare, 
To twine within thy Love's bouquet so fair. 



PAGE HUNDRED AND FOURTEE 



HOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



ROSE ETERNAL. 



When the Autumn winds are moaning, 
In the woods and fields intoning 
Their sweet requiems, condoning 
Life's decay: 

Lone I sit and ponder sadly 

On the hopes that once beamed gladly — 

Idle hopes I cherished madly — 

Entombed for aye. 

Faded leaves and wilted flowers 
Now bestrew the loved bowers; — 
Death has reached with chilling powers 
Everywhere. 

But one fair rose withers never; 
Whether chill winds blow, or whether 
All is summer sunshine ever, 

Still smiles it fair. 

Smiling, shall it e'er be near me, 
With its heavenly grace to cheer me, 
As a guiding star to steer me 

E'er above; 



•AGE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



Till in fairer clime it flowers, 
Nestling safe in angel bowers 
Joyous, where through endless hours 
Reigneth love. 



CHILDREN OF NIGHT. 



There is a land where dismal night 

Holds undisputed sway; 
Where but the glimmer of a single star 

Gives hope of far-off day. 

No rest is there for the weary head, 
No sleep for the drooping eye; 

No peace is there for the aching heart, 
Nor hope of deliverance nigh. 

They eat the bread of sorrow there, 
Bedewed with rueful tears; 

They drink the gall of bitterness, 
Through ages' dragging years. 



PAGE HUNDRED AND SIXTEEI 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



O ye, that live on God's green earth 

And bask in heaven's light, 
Deal of your wealth with loving hand 

To the children of the night. 

Make them your debtors; for tho' in bonds, 
They are heaven's chosen friends; 

They will repay a hundredfold, 
When their term of exile ends. 



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TO WINTER. 



Old Winter marches on with stately stride, 
His ermine robe trails white upon the earth ; 
His gracious smile seems but a grief to hide, 
For even now he quits these scenes of mirth. 
Nor of bewailing lovers is there dearth; 
E'en queenly Spring cannot restrain a tear. 
She decks the monarch in a jewelled girth. 
And as he bids adieu, a deafening cheer 
Swells from the myriad friends, to whom his reign was 
dear. 



PAGE HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



LAND OF NIGHT. 



There is a land of changeless, dismal scene, 
Where densest darkness reigneth evermore; 
Dull vapors roll the eye and light between, 
And lurid lightnings flash and thunders roar. 
The dwellers in that land, pain-racked and sore, 
No solace find but sorrow's burning tears, 
Or counting the ages of their exile o'er. 
They plead for ransom from their dragging years.— 
Alas! Their loudest pleadings reach not friendly ears. 

No rest is there, nor peace to soothe heart-sore; 
But labor ceaseless, unremitting pain; 
Sleep there is none life's vigor to restore, 
And hush the pangs that rend the soul in twain ; 
For now is night that all the powers stay. 
One only joy is there doth never wane : 
Though ages long, night will at last give way 
Unto the gladsome dawn of an eternal day. 



PAGE HUNDRED AND EIGHTEEN 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



HAIL WINTER. 

Hail! Winter, here again! How now, old friend? 
Right glad we are to see thee looking well : 
On thy stern face years do not seem to tell. 

Thy silvered locks, thy wrinkles do but lend 

A charm to thee ; thy chilly breath doth send 
The glow unto the cheek; thy smiles dispel, 
All thought of care. Young hearts and old do swell 

In expectation of the joys thou'lt spend. 

Thou'rt blustery and seeming stern betimes, 
And revellest in frost and bitter blast : 

Yet thy big heart is warm as tropic climes. 
Thou'rt ne'er so cold and frosty but thou hast 

A goodly store of joys, of merry chimes, 

That make us dote on thy dear memories past. 






PAGE HUNDRED AND NINETEEN 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



BOIFA CRUX. 

— ♦ — 
Good Cross, long loved and sought, at last revealed! 

Thy outstreched arms invite so lovingly; 

Take me to rest, where He hath hung for me, 
And by His bruises all my sores hath healed. 

Thy precious wood hath borne the Master's form; 
Take the disciple now and hold him fast, 
That on thy sturdy arms he may at last, 

Land safe beyond the reach of reckless storm. 

Thou art my hope, my strength, my joy, my crown; 
The one remaining spar, left from the wreck 
Of all life's higher hopes; thy narrow deck 

Is now my life-boat, through the tempest's frown. 

Thou mould of saints, shaped to the form divine, 
Wherein disfigured man is moulded o'er, 
The crooked limbs made straight, the whole once more 

A faithful copy of the first design. 

Take this unshapely form, 'tis sadly rent, 

Disjointed, ill deserving of its name; 

Cast it anew. Upon thy rigid frame, 
'Twill straighten out and yield the stubborn bent. 



PAGE - HUNDRED AND TWENTY 



HOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



On thee, yea, let me mount up to the skies, 
E'en as my Savior did, leading the way. 
To me, as to the thief, sweet Master, say: 

"This day thou'lt be with me in Paradise." 



~^~ 



ST. CECILIA. 



Cecilia's fingers, on the ivories pressed, 
Enticing waves of sweetest melody, 
Converted earth to heaven. From the sky 

In wondering awe a throng of spirits blest 

Linger enrapfured; and earth's trembling breast 
Is wrapped in silence. Oft I've wondered why 
A strain of music hath such potency: — 

Holds earth and heaven at its mild behest. 

Oh! had I but a tithe of thy high art, 

Fair Patroness of sweet accord, one strain 

From heaven's lyre I'd lure to touch earth's heart, 
Make all the world one brotherhood again. 

Ah! 'tis a strain the world doth ostracize, 

Nursling of saints, and native of the skies. 



PAGE HUNDRED AND TWENTY 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS; 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



List! Sweet music stealing soft 

Upon the midnight air, 
Enticing hearts to soar aloft 

Above earth's dismal care. 

What wondrous choir chanteth thus 
So sweetly thro' the night? 

Ah! 'Tis the angels bringing us 
Glad tidings of the light. 

What is the burden of the lay 

They chant so merrily? 
Oh, how the heart is borne away 

With strains so heavenly! 

"Glory to God on high, 

And peace to men," they sing. 

It is the Savior's advent nigh 
The heavens are heralding. 

The Savior comes, our God and king, 
The Lord of earth and all; 

"Redemption," do the heralds sing, 
"From evil's bitter thrall." 



PAGE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-TWO 



HOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



Oh! see the glory that is shed 

His humble throne above; 
And sorrow's bitter night is fled, 

And justice yields to love. 

Arouse thee, Earth, and deck thee bright, 

Thy royal Guest to meet, 
And all thy choristers invite 

His coming glad to greet. 

And let each heart be tuned to love, 
Bach voice sing loud His praise; 

And may the echo sound above 
Thro' heaven's endless days. 




AGE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-THREE 



THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASONS 



CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

— «♦ — 
Bells are ringing, angels singing, 

Christmas joys are here, 
Turning sadness into gladness, 

Filling hearts with cheer. 

Friendly meetings, holy greetings 
Round the Infant's berth: — 

In thy advent, gentle Savior, 
Blessings flood the earth. 

Round the manger, Son and Stranger 

Wondering eyes adore; 
Eager pressing, loving, blessing, 

Christmas grace implore. 

Faces beaming, love-tears streaming 
Tell the soul's release: — 

Ah! thy advent, sweetest Jesus, 
Brings the kiss of peace. 

Infant holy, bending lowly 
One sweet grace I pray: 

When the sad knell of the death bell 
Bids my soul away; 



PAGE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FOUI 



THOUGHTS FOR TH E SEASONS 



Oh! be near me, Jesus, cheer me 

In that saddest hour. 
When Thou comest then, sweet Savior, 

Show Thy mercy's power. 




CHRISTMAS WISH. 

(To a Musical Friend) 



As from thy finger-ends hath often flowed 
Great waves of melody into my soul, 
That bore away oppressing sorrow's load, 
As siren song the unwary would cajole: 
So, as the waves of Christmas blessings roll, 
Sweeping the land and spreading joy around, 
May sweeter strains than earth's thy heart cantrol; 
And in thy soul a whispered blessing sound, 
The voice of Jesus saying : < ' Peace in thy.heart abound ! 



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